Page 43 of From Hell

The voice in my head seems to come out of nowhere, taunting me, But Jaxon is waiting for me to say something, to explain my actions. And his expression tells me no lie on the tip of my tongue would suffice. How he looks at me like Ineedsaving by him has annoyance balling in my chest like a bad omen. It doesn’t override the otherlookthat delves beneath my clothes and undresses me with so much as a passing glance.

“Laine?” he repeats softly, cutting through the sound of my heart racing.

I wet my lips. The last thing I want to do is admit I have a stalker, but it’s better than telling him I’m trying to solve a ten-year-old murdering spree. Everyone believes the ripper was caught. He’ll think I’m crazy for believing otherwise.

“I have a stalker. His car is registered to Berners House.”

“Is that so?” His eyes flash with anger for a second, his body coiled to react, dangerous…but then he looks around my small abode, breaking contact, relieving me of his unwavering stare. “Is that why you invited me in tonight?”

I swallow. “Something like that.”

Abruptly, he gets to his feet, straightening his shirt as he takes me in. “Then you’re staying with me.” His gaze dips to my lips as I lick them, a habit I have when I’m nervous as Hell, and then to my exposed cleavage, almost popping out of my skin-tight dress. “You should grab a change of clothes. That dress looks uncomfortable to sleep in.”

16

JAXON

Watching my little fox panic has become my favorite way to pass the time. She’s a delight when she’s afraid, and then she bites.

She declined my invitation to stay, as I knew she would. So I checked all her windows and doors, even though I knew it was a waste of time so she could rest easy, and then drove back to Berners House.

When I get there, the dregs of the ball are still loitering. My father raises his head, trying to catch my eye. I ignore him and head straight down the coiled staircase to the archive room. At the far end, in the alcove my fox trembled only hours before, I press a smooth stone, and a door opens.

It amuses me she was so close yet so far from finding Henry.

And that she played her hand.

Not all of them. Just one—admitting to me that she has a stalker. Either she still hasn’t pieced it together, or she’s playing me like I am her.

It’ll be fun to find out.

I almost let her take the evidence with her, evidence that would damn my father and his fascist friends. But where is the fun in that? Our games would end, and I’m enjoying the hunt far too much.

Henry stirs on the sterile table, eyes snapping open as I approach, and gives me a hostile look. His muscles bunch against the ropes I have around him, clothes dirt-stained and torn from being dragged through the mud. On his neck sticks a red-stained gauze from when I saved him. I don’t know why I bothered to, except seeing his hands all over her that night made me want to kill him instead.

The death she gave him was too easy.

Next to him, unconscious, is Christian. He’s out cold after I punched him repeatedly in the face and then injected him with a sedative to keep him quiet. His eye socket is shattered, and his nose is a mess, bloodied. It’s most definitely broken in a few places. I almost killed him in front of the girl he was with, my anger getting the better of me.

I held back.

Just.

“Let me go, you sick fuck,” Henry grates, barely a whisper, watching me warily.

His vocal cords were damaged when she slit his throat. I didn’t bother to repair them. He can’t scream for anyone to help him. Not that they would. No one knows about these passageways but the most trusted members. Acolytes are in the dark about this place until they prove themselves.

I’m the only one who has.

“Interesting calling me that when what you do in the name of Divine is an abomination.” A twisted snarl graces my lips.

“I serve. Just like you.” He strains to reach me. If he could, he’d rip those bonds and strangle me with them. That’s what I’d do in his place. I’ve left him here to rot for days, lying in his own blood and piss. “We’re the fucking same.”

I snort. “We’re not the same.” When we’re called to serve, we’re expected to sacrifice to prove our worthiness. Henry and the others, drunk on the establishment’s power, take what they want. The Archkey is too weak to see that. “You abuse the power he gave you. You take what’s not earned.”

Henry sniggers, but it turns into a hacking cough. “Why do you think he gave us immunity, if not to fucking take what we want?”

Thick anger curls in my gut, but I shove it down. I don’t need it yet. “You broke the rules,” I remind him, opening my box of tricks where he can see.